


Idiot

by bananacosmicgirl



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s04e03 97 Seconds, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananacosmicgirl/pseuds/bananacosmicgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being friends with Doctor Gregory House meant getting grey hairs far earlier than one might otherwise get them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idiot

**Author's Note:**

> One of my first attempts at writing House fanfic, written way back when. Thought I'd post it on AO3 too. Can be read as pre-slash if one prefers slash-goggles as I do.

Being friends with Doctor Gregory House meant getting grey hairs far earlier than one might otherwise get them.

Doctor James Wilson sighed deeply as he sat down in the chair next to House’s bed. House’s burnt hand lay in clear view and Wilson couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Red and blistered, it looked angry against the white covers.

Wilson thought of the times House had scared him before.

There’d been the infarction, which had been the first time. God, he’d been scared then, but he’d kept a brave front – he didn’t want to appear weak, not in front of House, not in front of anyone – and quietly supported House as he recovered.

Then House had been shot, in broad daylight – and Wilson’s heart had stopped for a moment that felt like an eternity.

There was the time when House had not answered his phone, when Tritter had been after him. When Wilson had gone to his apartment and found House on the floor, lying in his own vomit. A sense of shame came over Wilson – he’d simply left his best friend there. But it had made him so angry – House had stolen a dead patient’s pills! Still, it had frightened him, enough to have him come back a few hours later and check up on him again.

And now, House lay still in the hospital bed with a blistered hand and a heart that had stopped for nearly a whole minute.

Wilson ran a hand through his hair, eyes flitting to the screen monitoring House’s pulse. It beeped steadily.

He wondered what he was supposed to feel about the man on the bed. Anger? House had electrocuted himself. Worry? Yes, he could hardly deny that. Sad? Why did House feel the need to do these things?

Guilt.

He’d basically pushed his best friend to attempt suicide. House _had_ been in near death situations before – he did _not_ need to go there again.

Wilson’s heart constricted sharply when he looked at House. It hurt to look at him.

House stirred. Wilson stood and walked to the end of the bed, leaning his elbows on the wooden end of it. He watched a frown of pain pass over House’s face. No surprise there – the blistered hand must hurt. And there was always the leg.

House opened those startlingly blue eyes for a moment. Then his eyelids fell shut again – perhaps the room was too bright or the pain was too intense, or perhaps House was simply disappointed that he was still there. Still alive. Perhaps a part of House did, after all, want to die.

The thought frightened Wilson. He couldn’t imagine life without House. The verbal sparring, the games, the movie nights with beer and pizza. Wilson had little else, with three crashed marriages behind him. Now only the job, and his friendship with House, remained.

Without House, he would be alone.

He watched House in silence, studying the lines of his face. They changed as House frowned in pain – or perhaps annoyance at life in general.

Then he opened his eyes once more and blue eyes met brown. For a moment, Wilson basked in the reassurance that House was still there, he was still alive. He hadn’t left Wilson, not yet.

Then anger and worry pushed the brief happiness out.

“You’re an idiot.”


End file.
